clerk at the court, of Kuttenberg
“I do the heavy lifting at the Court so my family can eat. A man must earn his bread and hold his tongue.”
Things Joerg Schneider had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I have almost enough groschen hidden away. Benesh Bell gave me a name in Sedletz, a good priest who will sing for my mother Ellen, God rest her soul. If I skip the baker's stall a few more weeks, it will be done.
Nota scribaeThe lad clutched a dirty piece of paper the whole time he spoke and looked over his shoulder twice.
the second day of May, at None
Father spent yesterday's coin on ale again. Anna and Cunne had to share my pottage. I do not mind the hunger, but I wish he would remember we need boots before the autumn mud comes.
Thank you for the pottage, brother. It was warm, at least.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
The charcoal sacks at the Italian Court felt heavier today. Edmund had me hauling from Prime until Vespers. My hands are black and my back screams, but it is honest coin. I will not complain like the others.
You do not complain about the sacks, but you glare at us well enough. And my roof is still leaking, for the record.
Nota scribaeDictated at the lower gates. The boy looks like a ghost.
the feast of St Joseph, at Terce
Robert Baker and Lambert White are still fighting over that brass lamp lent at Candlemas. Grown men squabbling like children over toys, while some of us have nothing to our names. Let them freeze in the dark.
Mind your tongue, boy. It was a good lamp and Lambert is a thief.
I gave it back! You just cannot remember where you put it, you old fool.
the morrow of Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Roger Clark tried to rent me a dagger for the town muster. I told him no. I earn my groschen through heavy labour, not by throwing it away on foolishness. Adam Mailer already pawned his jacket, Roger deserves his empty purse.
It is a fine blade, you stubborn mule! You will be sorry when the Cumans come and all you have is a ledger to throw at them.
Nota scribaeHe patted his belt pouch three times while saying this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Christ almighty, Joerg, you are wasting away to nothing. Have some ale and bread with me tonight.
Keep your coin, Father. Joerg, you must eat. Mother would not want you starving yourself to death.